Chapter 2 – THE TORN SUMMONS

The cheap paper of the court summons felt like sandpaper in my shaking hands.

I stared at the legal jargon, the words blurring together as the parking lot lights buzzed overhead. Lily was clinging to my arm, her graduation gown rustling softly in the cool night breeze.

“Mom,” Lily whispered, her voice cracking. “He can’t really take the scholarship, can he? I’m eighteen.”

“He can tie it up in court for years, baby,” I choked out, a cold, heavy dread settling in my stomach. “He can freeze the trust fund while a judge reviews the financial competency claim. If he drags Vincent’s name into the newspapers, linking the charity to money laundering… Vincent will have to pull the funding to protect his family’s legitimate businesses.”

Greg knew exactly what he was doing. He didn’t need to win custody. He just needed to create enough legal chaos and public scandal to force a settlement. He wanted a payoff to go away.

“We have to tell Mr. Caruso,” Lily said, wiping her eyes.

“No!” I panicked, gripping her hand tighter. “Lily, you don’t understand the world Vincent lives in. If I tell him someone is threatening to expose his charity to the press… he won’t call a lawyer. He’ll call Marco.”

Lily’s eyes widened, the realization hitting her.

Vincent had just dismantled his own engagement to protect us. I couldn’t repay that kindness by bringing a blackmailer to his doorstep. If Vincent handled Greg the way the mafia handles threats, I would be responsible for a murder.

“We can’t tell him,” I insisted, shoving the summons into my purse. “I’ll go to legal aid tomorrow. I’ll figure this out. We just need to go home.”

I unlocked the Civic, pushing Lily gently into the passenger seat. I climbed behind the wheel, my hands trembling so violently it took me three tries to get the key in the ignition.

As I pulled out of the estate, my phone buzzed in my purse.

I ignored it. I just wanted to get to the safety of our small apartment.

We drove in silence for twenty minutes. The adrenaline from the dining room was completely gone, leaving me exhausted and terrified.

When we finally pulled up to our apartment building in the South Side, the streetlights were flickering, casting long, menacing shadows across the cracked pavement.

I parked the car and hurried Lily up the three flights of stairs to our unit.

I unlocked the door, pushed it open, and froze.

The apartment was dark, but it wasn’t empty.

Sitting in the worn armchair in the corner of the living room, illuminated only by the streetlamp shining through the window, was a massive figure.

“I told you to take the next two days off, Denise.”

I screamed, instinctively pushing Lily behind me into the hallway.

A small lamp clicked on.

Vincent Caruso was sitting in my armchair. He had taken off his suit jacket, his sleeves rolled up, revealing the intricate, dark tattoos winding up his forearms.

Standing near the kitchen, looking incredibly uncomfortable in the cramped space, was Marco.

“Mr. Caruso?!” I gasped, my heart hammering against my ribs. “How did you get in here?”

“Marco picked the lock,” Vincent said simply, as if discussing the weather. “I needed to speak with you.”

“Why?” I stammered, stepping cautiously into the room, keeping Lily close. “I thought you wanted us to go celebrate.”

Vincent looked at me, his dark eyes missing nothing. He noted my pale face, my trembling hands, and the sheer terror radiating from Lily.

“I did,” Vincent said slowly, standing up from the armchair. “But then my security team reviewed the surveillance footage from the staff parking lot.”

My blood ran cold.

“You have cameras in the parking lot?” I whispered.

“I have cameras everywhere on my property, Denise,” Vincent stated. “I watched a man approach you. I watched him threaten you. And I watched you look more terrified of him than you ever were of Celeste.”

He took a step closer, towering over me in the small living room.

“Who is he?” Vincent demanded softly.

“Nobody,” I lied immediately, avoiding his gaze. “Just an old neighbor. It’s a personal matter, sir. It’s handled.”

Vincent didn’t yell. He didn’t demand obedience. He just looked at me with a profound, terrifying patience.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled, folded piece of paper.

“If it’s handled,” Vincent said quietly, “then why did you drop this on the ground when you got in your car?”

He held out the paper.

It was the court summons Greg had thrown on my hood. I hadn’t shoved it into my purse. I had missed in my panic, and it had fallen onto the asphalt.

I stared at it, unable to speak, the lie completely collapsing around me.

“Greg Harper,” Vincent read from the document, his voice devoid of emotion. “Your ex-husband. Suing for financial control of Lily’s scholarship, claiming you coerced him during the divorce twelve years ago.”

Vincent looked up from the paper, his eyes locking onto mine.

“He’s threatening to expose the Caruso Educational Trust as a money-laundering front to the press if you don’t pay him off.”

I burst into tears, covering my face with my hands.

“I didn’t want to involve you!” I sobbed, the fear and exhaustion breaking me down. “You’ve done enough for us! If he goes to the press, he’ll ruin your charity! He’ll ruin everything!”

“He won’t ruin anything,” Vincent said firmly.

He didn’t hand the summons back to me.

He slowly, deliberately tore the legal document in half. Then in quarters. He dropped the shredded pieces onto the worn carpet.

“Vincent, you can’t just tear it up!” I cried, shocked by the casual destruction. “He has a lawyer! He’s going to file it tomorrow morning!”

“No, he isn’t,” Vincent replied, turning to look at Marco.

Marco nodded grimly. “I’ve already got two teams tracking his phone, Boss. We’ll have his location in ten minutes. We can make him disappear before sunrise.”

My heart stopped. The very thing I had feared was happening right in front of me.

“No!” I screamed, grabbing Vincent’s arm. “You can’t kill him! Please!”

Vincent looked down at my hand gripping his shirt, then up at my terrified face.

“Denise, this man abandoned you to starve twelve years ago,” Vincent said, genuine confusion mixing with his anger. “He just tried to steal your daughter’s future. Why are you protecting him?”

“I’m not protecting him!” I yelled, tears streaming down my face. “I’m protecting Lily! She’s eighteen, Vincent! She’s applying to law school! If her father is murdered, and it’s linked to the mafia boss paying for her college, her life is over! The police will investigate the trust, they’ll investigate me, they’ll drag her name through the mud!”

I looked into Vincent’s dark, dangerous eyes, pleading with the last ounce of strength I had.

“You can’t solve this with a bullet. If you kill him, Greg wins. He destroys her future from the grave.”

Vincent stared at me, the tension in the room so thick it was suffocating. He was a man accustomed to absolute violence, to removing obstacles permanently. Negotiating with a blackmailer went against every instinct he possessed.

But as he looked at Lily, standing trembling in the hallway, still clutching her graduation cap, the harsh lines of his face slowly softened.

“You’re right,” Vincent breathed, running a hand through his dark hair. “A murder brings police. Police bring the press.”

He looked back at me, a new, calculating light entering his eyes.

“If we can’t kill him,” Vincent said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, strategic whisper, “then we have to bury him alive.”

I frowned, wiping my eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Greg claims you coerced him into signing the divorce papers twelve years ago,” Vincent deduced, his mind working rapidly. “He claims he was an innocent victim forced to abandon his family. If he files that summons tomorrow, a judge has to review his character to determine if his claims have merit.”

Vincent turned to Marco.

“Marco. I don’t want a hit squad. I want my accountants and my private investigators. I want to know where Greg Harper has been for the last twelve years. Every job he’s had. Every bank account he’s opened. Every mistake he’s made.”

“You got it, Boss,” Marco nodded, stepping out into the hallway to make the calls.

Vincent looked down at me, a fierce, protective resolve burning in his gaze.

“By morning, Denise, we aren’t going to have a body,” Vincent promised, his voice low and lethal. “We are going to have a dossier so devastating that Greg Harper will beg a judge to let him drop the lawsuit.”

Before I could thank him, my cell phone, sitting on the kitchen counter, began to ring.

The harsh electronic tone shattered the quiet of the apartment.

I walked over cautiously. The caller ID was a blocked number.

I answered it, putting it on speaker so Vincent could hear.

“Hello?” I asked, my voice trembling.

“Denise,” Greg’s raspy voice echoed through the small kitchen. But he didn’t sound arrogant anymore. He sounded terrified. “Denise, you have to help me.”

I frowned, exchanging a bewildered look with Vincent.

“Greg? What’s going on?”

“They’re here, Denise!” Greg shouted, panic lacing every word. “I didn’t know who you worked for! I swear to God, I didn’t know he was connected to the old crew!”

“Who is there, Greg?” Vincent demanded, leaning over the counter, his voice cutting like a knife.

“The Marchand family!” Greg screamed, the sound of breaking glass echoing in the background of the call. “Celeste’s father sent them! He said I was supposed to wait for his signal to extort you! But I got greedy! I went early! Now they’re going to kill me!”

My blood ran cold.

Celeste’s father. The State Senator.

He hadn’t just been angry about the broken engagement. He had orchestrated Greg’s return.

“They’re breaking down the door, Denise!” Greg wept hysterically. “Please, call the police! Tell them—”

The line went dead with a loud, violent crash.

Vincent and I stared at the phone in absolute shock.

The monster who had ruined my past wasn’t acting alone. He was a pawn in a much larger, much more dangerous game played by the woman who had just been thrown out of the mansion.

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